When the battle's lost and won'
by hymuk
Summary: Petra Ral is a proud member of WAC serving in London during WWII. When she's transferred from her post as a translator to a covert elite squad that travels the nazi-invaded Europe, she finds herself operating guns and tearing sheets of propaganda under the command of the pride of France. Rivetra
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

Petra Ral was a proud member of WAC. When she was moved to London shortly after she finished her training in 1941, well, she was more than just a proud member. One of few battalions to be transferred to London for assisting the British Royal Army, she was excited. An excitement is probably an understatement. She had walked confidently on the grounds of what was to become her new home for the next few years, and gazed at the area full of runways, planes, and grassy patches, littered with several buildings. Led by a young british girl, she was shown around, and was quickly inducted into the large minority of women there.

It has been three months since she last arrived, and to say the least, she had become quite known around there. The cute american with the short ginger curls and red lipstick, who could throw a punch as good as any soldier flying in and out of here. She often worked as translating messages from the French Resistance members across the channel, and although she wished to be able to do what a man could do during this time, it was still great to be in London.

She sat smoking at her desk, the cigarette hanging out from the corner of her mouth. She took a long draw from it, then gazed around at the other girls surrounding her. Some of them were busy translating german notes or stubs of paper, sometimes messages, but she didn't have anything that day. Fluent in both French and German, she usually got the majority of translations, but today, today was slow.

Her head tilted backwards as she exhaled a puff of smoke, smiling softly to herself. She'd received two packages from home today filled with tubes of M&Ms, which had become her favorite snacks since moving here. A half-finished roll sat on her desk, pieces sprawled across some papers.

She let out another sigh, when someone tapped lightly on her chair with the side of their pen. She bolted upwards, and looked around to see the face of her friend—Rico. A british translator who'd she befriended not too long ago, after a bet for two cigarettes. Petra had won it in the end, but she'd shared one of them with Rico.

"Hey, not sharing a cigarette with your mate?" she asked, poking me in the arm with her pen. In response, I tossed the packet in her general direction, and she frowned when she caught the empty box, "God, you're really awful."

I snorted in response, and looked up at her. "Should you really be talking about how awful I am right now instead of translating an important document?"

"Nah," she responded, grinning, "I'm off as of now, and it's perfect timing really—I hear that Lieutenant-General Erwin Smith is coming here—todaay."

"And why the hell should I be caring about if he's coming?"

"Well I hear that they're coming to pick someone up to take with them."

"Them?" I glanced at her suspiciously, stubbing my cigarette.

"Yeah, something about a—"

"Ral? Is there an Officer Petra Ral here?"

In slight disbelief, she stood up from her chair, and saluted, gazing at the figure standing before them.

"At ease."

"Well bloody look who's here." Rico murmured, shuffling out of the room in the most dignified manner possible.

Erwin Smith was a big man, to say the least, and wore this constant heavy smile, weighed down by the constant worries that plagued him. He gazed around the room, calculating, then turned back to Petra. She straightened unknowingly before him, hoping that he hadn't heard her less than flattering comment from earlier.

"Would you be willing to show the grounds to me a bit today?" he asked cordially.

"Not at all, sir."

Petra took him around the army base, not quite sure what he was expecting out of this, other than maybe a bit of fresh foggy air. It was one of those days in London, and Petra was expecting it to rain later. She hadn't brought her umbrella—she hadn't even been wearing her uniform jacket when he had stepped into her office—and honestly, the most that she'd be able to offer the General beside her words would be some M&Ms hidden in her pocket.

They stopped to watch a plane land across the field by Erwin's request, and Petra didn't know what to say in the least. She guessed there wasn't much she had to say, but she felt awkward around him as he had this sort of knowing aura, like he had planned out of the rest of this war.

"Tell me, Petra," he said, breaking the silence. "How well do you like it here?"

"At the base, sir? Well enough, I suppose."

"Not just the base—you're american, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"How would you feel travelling with me and an elite team across the rest of Europe."

It was a statement more than a question really, and before she had stopped herself, she had let out a burst of laughter. It was obviously no more than a joke, and her emotions had already accepted that truth before her reason had.

Smith was polite enough to wait until she stopped laughing, and by then the plane they had been watching had been emptied of its pilot and passengers. Petra finally noticed it, and became aware of the General's presence. In an effort to repair her doing, she began to tread the waters carefully.

"I'm not quite sure… sir… if you really need a French and German WAC translator on your team of elites. If you're looking for someone who could _help_ you during your cause, I'm sure I could—"

"Miss Ral, we chose you especially. Well liked among your comrades, and I've been told fluent in both French and German, two essential languages that we're needing. I'd rather you not ask why we've requested _your_ transfer, but rather _why_ we need you in the first place."

She nodded in response after a brief pause.

"We needed a woman on our team, in all honesty who could help us go around. Because honestly, four non-nazi men prancing around German occupied territory is not enough. We needed someone capable, and so your commanding-officer directed me to you."

"I don't mean to be disrespectful, General, but you're not just asking me to be some sort of… mannequin for this oh-so lauded team of yours, are you?" Petra's hand rested almost defiantly on her hip, and she reached into her pocket, itching for a cigarette, but instead finding her packet of M&Ms.

Smith chuckled, shaking his head. "We don't think _lowly_ of you Miss Ral, we want you to become a member of our team. You will run the operations alongside all of the men on your team. I've approved of this, as well as your commanding-officer, and the captain of this small squad. It's true one of the factors taken into account was that you fit the profile we were looking for _exactly_ , but several other women fit that profile as well. It just so happened, you were the most qualified."

"And I'm guessing that all the arrangements have been made… sir?"

"Your transfer papers, Officer Ral." he said, slipping them out of his coat. He hand a stack of yellow papers to her, which she held with uncertainty, as if he would take them from her hands, or show her that they were gag papers. But he smiled, then walked away, not saying anything else. He was an interesting man that she supposed she'd be learning more about the more time she spent with him.

She unfolded the creased stack, and skimmed through the papers, making her way back across the field to the mess hall where she'd break the news to her friends and comrades.

The top of the file was marked with a CONFIDENTIAL stamp in red, and immediately she knew that this wasn't just any team that he'd assigned her to. She gazed more carefully, and took in the information. She'd be meeting the rest of her team, on a nighttime flight to Free France in five hours.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE

This is pretty much the first thing I've written since my last fic, and for some reason I've been having a lot of trouble just writing on my own. Hopefully this'll help me out...  
Previously posting on the Attack on Titan tag, I've decided to move my home over to the Shingeki tag and have found some time to write something off. Now off of full hiatus due to life in general, I bring you the WWII AU.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Petra arrived on the runway at a quarter to midnight, wearing her WAC uniform, and carrying a bag stuffed with her essentials. The rest, she decided, she would be leaving with her friends back in London. She didn't exactly know when, or really _if_ she would be coming back to the air base, but she'd rather that they stayed somewhere safe than bring them around with her across Europe.

She shifted her weight from foot to foot nervously, realizing that she was the first one on the runway, where they had been scheduled to meet. It was a fairly quiet night, and though there were occasional planes passing above, none of them came. The air towers were probably bored out of their minds.

Silently, she reviewed the information that had been disclosed to her in the documents. They would be moving to Vichy, the capital of this so called "Free France," where they would be aiding the French resistance hiding about. Essentially, they would be working as the main link of communications between the several resisting movements and networks and London, where they would be reporting back on the french progress.

Petra sat down on the surprisingly warm tarmac, and buried her face into her knees, waiting for someone to come. As if answering to her call, she heard a hum coming from above, and jumped as she spotted a small aircraft making its way towards her. What was she thinking! She was on a damn runway!

Scrambling from her spot, she made way for the landing plane, which smoothly came down. She gazed at the plane, watching the pilot step out, whipping their helmet off of their face, revealing a man about the same age as Petra. He wore what seemed to be a permanently serious look, but as soon as he spotted the short girl, he broke into a grin. He walked over in a sort of jovial swagger, and held out his hand as soon as he reached her.

"Officer Ral, I take it?" she shook his hand, noting his scottish accent and his sandy blond undercut.

"Yes," she replied.

And though she didn't think it was possible, his grin became even wider, and he reached out to pinch her cheek. "What? They didn't tell me I'd be working with such a cute Yankee!"

She swatted his hand away, frowning back at him. "Don't pinch my cheeks, Officer."

He crossed his arms in front of his chest, smirking. "My name's Officer Auruo Bossard, and I'll be piloting the team around. Come," he grabbed her bags, and moved back towards his plane. At least he was a gentleman of some sorts.

It was a small german Siebel Fh 104 that could sit about five people which they would be using to fly around Europe. All of the British were aware of it not being piloted by a german, and it was decided that the wisest choice would be to fly around this plane so they wouldn't be shot down, essentially.

He let her sit in the cockpit, which was surprisingly comfortable. The window was opened up so that a light breeze passed through, and tickled Petra's face. It was such a nice night. Officer Bossard sat in the seat next to her, and they sat in pleasant silence. A sleepy spell was taking her over, when she heard a small sort of click of the tongue, as if it were a summon. Her eyes flipped open, and she noticed Bossard climbing out of the plane, biting his tongue in the process. She jumped out of the plane too, and noticed a small group that had gathered outside of their plane. In front of her stood one of the shortest men she had ever seen, but there was no denying who he was. The pride of France, Captain Levi Ackerman. He looked at the two officers, and waited until they stood in front of him saluting.

"At ease." In his hands he held a packet of files, and a bag was slung across his shoulder. She'd seen him in flyers and in the newspaper before, often times standing beside General de Gaulle, with whom he had came, or with Erwin Smith. Despite his short stature, he was strangely intimidating, and had a soldier's aura about him: emotionless, confident, passive yet alert.

He glanced at a piece of paper he held, snapping her out of her trance with the sudden movement, and watched as he held up the paper glancing at the both of them.

"Officer Bossard and Officer Ral." he nodded curtly at both of them, and Petra noticed his slight accent. A tall man stood behind him, and she noticed a third loading up bags into the plane.

"Officer Ral, you're new to what we do here. I hope that Erwin has briefed you on what we do." he started towards the plane, and got inside, with the rest of us trailing behind him.

"Really just the basics, Captain, but I'm fairly unaware of what it is we're going to be doing." Petra said, trying to keep up with his surprisingly fast pace.

" _Quel blaireau_." he cursed under his breath. He snapped back towards her, making her stop suddenly in place. "Bossard, start the plane, we're leaving now. Ral, you'll be briefed on our latest assignment by Captain-Lieutenant Gin from Norway on the plane."

And he boarded without another word.

* * *

They sat in the back of the plane while Bossard piloted them towards Free France. The fifth member of their team, a polish jew who escaped a year or two back and sought out to help the Allied forces, was yet another man by the name of Gunther Schulz. A fairly quiet man, it seemed, sat up front with Auruo.

"A great pilot." Gin noted, pointing towards the back of his head. "When he came to London, he was in a stolen German plane. Connected his radio, and spoke to us in impeccable english. Landed right before the outbreak of war, and joined the army. Next thing he knew, he was fighting along the british." he paused briefly. "Refuses to fly unless he has to however, and won't tell any of us _why_."

Petra had curled up into a ball, and covered herself with a quilt she had packed. "You have awfully good English for a norwegian. I figured that you would speak with an accent or something."

He let out a guffaw, and slapped her arm. "My mother was a Brit, and she took us back to England to visit my gram and gramps quite often. But tell me about yourself, an american?"

She smiled back at him. "Born and raised."

"Ah, I love americans. The Captain over there hates your accent however—nothing personal, of course."

Her eyes followed his finger over to the other side of the plane, where Captain Levi sat, fingering an unlit cigarette, with his back to them.

"He's a lot quieter than I thought he'd be." her voice had dropped to a whisper, fearing that he'd hear them, despite the loud din that surrounded them.

"I believe it's more of a 'I intimidate you until I decide that I like you' type personality. But he's a great captain, believe me. Hopefully you'll get to know him more during this mission."

"The mission?"

He slapped a hand against his forehead. "I've been talking so much I forgot to brief you. Our main goal once we land is to connect with a movement or network near Vichy. Afterwards, it's all up to General de Gaulle."

"That's about as much as Lieutenant General Smith told me." she snorted, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jacket.

She shuffled her hands around, and found a roll of M&Ms sitting in her pocket. They were slightly warm from being in there for so long, but chocolate was chocolate. She slipped a piece out, trying to minimize any noise she was making, and threw it into her mouth, savoring the sweet taste.

Then hesitantly, she took the entire roll out of her pocket, and motioned it towards Eld, whose eyes started to widen in disbelief.

"No way." he whispered. Petra nodded, and soundlessly poured some into his palm. He picked at the colorful pieces, then put them in his mouth, chewing, and swallowing.

"You're brilliant Ral… Ral, Petra? Petra, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"By all means, call me Erd, and nothing more formal than that will ever be necessary, especially when it comes from an angel like you."


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

It was around four in morning when they landed in an indescript field not to far from Vichy. Auruo turned off all the engines and lights, and they waited in the plane for a good ten minutes, to see if anyone had noticed them land. Levi held a revolver in his hand, and loaded it, the distinct click resonating in their ears.

"I'm going to scout the surroundings." he declared, jumping out. Landing softly in the high grass, he walked towards the empty field, without a second glance back. There was no doubt amongst these men that he would come back, and even Eld Gin didn't seem like he was expecting to take Levi's place in case he wasn't going to come back.

They all sat in suspenseful silence, not daring to say a word. Petra even held her breath without noticing at times, as if giving a soft sigh would alert the opposition of their presence. It was heart-hammering, despite the fact that all they were doing was sitting in a plane that had its engines shut off, to even _be there_.

As if to make herself feel better, Petra reached her hand onto the handle of her revolver that was strapped onto her. She didn't realize her fingers were quivering until Gunther pulled her hand from it, as if to tell her not to worry.

A half hour later, Levi returned, with a group of people trailing behind him. "Resistance members." he said in explanation.

The dense air of fear and suspense was broken, and they all hopped out of the plane, meeting the rest of the party that Levi had brought over.

A girl, certainly younger than Petra, gazed at them, her eyes meeting every single one of theirs, until they rested on Petra. "What were you thinking, wearing that?" she spat, in a heavy french accent. Her finger pointed to her WAC uniform, and silently, Petra cursed herself.

She sighed, turning Petra around roughly, and studied it. "It will be impossible to get a fresh set of clothing at the black market without raising some suspicion, especially when the clothing I would be requesting would be at least three sizes _too small_." The girl turned towards the closest member beside her, and in muffled french whispered, " _We'll have to make use of it, then burn the rest_."

Petra stiffened slightly. She was rather fond of her uniform, but it had to be done.

The members took the five of them to a farmhouse about a mile away, while a couple of

other members contemplated how to secure the plane and make sure that it wouldn't be seen by some wandering eyes.

The girl lit a cigarette as they began their marche, exhaling puffs of smoke, marking her exhales with distinct grey clouds, contrasting the cold white breaths of the others. Then, as if preparing herself for something, she took a draw longer than the others, and turned around to face the rest of them, backpedaling. "I expect all of you to _behave_ while you're here. I have no time for idiots that will give me and my people away. We have fought too long to _die._ " Beat. She took another suck at her cigarette. "I'm the leader of this particular movement, and I'm expecting this team to be efficient, and willing to help. We can't risk having any more resistance members being killed, especially after _the last incident_." she shot a sharp accusing look at Captain Levi, who gazed back at her, bored.

" _It wasn't my fault, Jeanne._ " he retorted back in French. " _And they weren't_ even killed _._ We rescued them _, while you sat in the corner,_ bawling."

Jeanne's cheeks turned red with fury. " _You are in no position to discuss what happened. And let me remind you that you're the reason why our last cover was blown._ " she let out a broken laugh, and took a swig of her cigarette. " _I'm surprised they even let you back here!_ "

Petra wasn't sure if they knew that she could understand, but she kept her eyes on the grass folding beneath her feet, not wishing to interrupt the two leaders. Levi fell silent after the last thing she said, and what are you supposed to think when your superior can no longer uphold their fight?

Jeanne, sensing her bitter victory, turned her back to them once again, and picked up her step. "Hurry up, fools. I like freezing my ass off here as much as you do."

* * *

They arrived at the old farmhouse, situated in the outskirts of the capital of Free France, a looming shadow in a grand, empty field.

Jeanne brought them inside, opening the back door to a rustic type kitchen, and lit the flames of a large brick fireplace. It was hardly any warmer than it was outside, but at least they were protected from the wind. Petra appreciated the house, and despite her being on a foreign mission—in _nazi territory_ , mind you—she couldn't help but indulge in the, _frenchness_ of it all. It was nice being an american in France.

Captain Levi took note of the kitchen, then glanced back over at Jeanne. " _It's hardly changed,_ " he murmured in french.

" _Trust me, it looks much different when it is not so dark in here._ " she stoked the fire, her back turned towards the group. She cast a long shadow along the dark kitchen floor, and the elite team couldn't help but notice how eerie this place was—like a shell of what this home probably was before the war.

The silence unnerved them all, and as if sensing it—though who didn't?—Eld clapped his hands together, bringing back everyone's attention.

"So, Jeanne, it is, right?"

"But of course," she growled.

"Is there any other members you have living here right now that could help us with, um, moving the plane?"

"I have sent the other three that were with us at first—I suppose _you_ wouldn't have noticed—to go take care of that little… problem. They're bringing it to the field near here and are painting it over—the Germans will notice nothing."

"Ah, that's… just fine!" Eld replied. The lieutenant glanced over to Auruo and Gunther, who both looked slightly pained at the news of their plane getting painted over.

"But there's not need!" Gunther blurted out suddenly.

Jeanne snapped her head towards him, sending chills down his spin.

"And _why ever not_?"

"It's a Siebel Fh 104! It is German, they will never question its presence!" Auruo declared, helping out his fellow pilot, Gunther nodding beside him.

"What, you still hold soft sentiments for the germans?" she scoffed, pointing at Gunther. He blanched immediately, and bowed his hand down, as if ashamed by her accusation. Then she gave a sharp stare to the rest of the team, as if staring into each of their souls. Finally, she gazed over at their Captain. He leaned against the wall nonchalantly, hardly noticing the commotion his fellow frenchwoman was stirring up amongst his team members. "I didn't realize you trained your soldiers so poorly, _Levi_." she spat.

Levi turned his head towards the rest of the slowly, assessing the present situation, and smirked, taking to the doorway, "As always, _Jeanne_. Officers, follow me to your room assignments."

"But there is no need, for _I_ will show them. Retire for the night, Captain." Jeanne saluted him with her cigarette, and pushed past him, motioning for the rest to follow.

Loyal as ever, however, the officers glanced at their commanding officer, asking for his permission to follow the young _résistante_ , moving into the rest of the house at his nod of approval.

The foreigners trooped behind Jeanne, who led them through the darkened rooms, lighting up the hallway lamps that hung on the walls. She walked in complete silence, not making any attempt at small talk with them, and did nothing but fulfill her duty of showing them to their rooms, despite having fought with the captain to perform this task.

"Officer Ral, you're all the way down there, and everyone else, you each get one of those three rooms. Lucky for you, this is a big house. So if you want to have sex with one another, just be quiet since we'll still be able to hear you."

All four of them simultaneously blanched, and Petra turned furiously pink. "Jeanne, we're all close—we're a team—but we're not _that close_."

Shrugging, she lit what must've been her third cigarette, and left them all standing in the hall. "It was an assumption, but I meant no offence. We _are_ in war, and people crave company."

They stood in utter shock and silence, taking in both the truth and obscenity of what their host had said.

"That Jeanne is quite the character," Gunther muttered under his breath.

"Oh Schulz," Auruo chided, "Don't tell me _you_ were considering paying her a visit later tonight."

"I—" Gunther stiffened, then hunched over in defeat, picking a room at random, and slamming the door.

"Auruo, you fool." Erd shook his head, and took his own room too, quickly followed by a blabbering Scot.

Petra smiled at the bickering of the three men she realized she would be spending the rest of the war with, most likely.

"Officer Ral."

Her head whipped around at the sound of her name, and she encountered Jeanne, standing on the stairs that led to the second floor. "I hope you have not forgotten about your little… outfit business."

Returning her tired expression with a warm smile, Petra made her way down the stairs, following her back to the kitchen. "Not at all."

* * *

"Jeanne, I hope you two realize that this is all pointless." Petra immediately jumped when she heard the monotone of her Captain, her knees hitting the bottom of the table they were working at, despite her short stature.

" _Captain, it's simply that_ —"

"At ease Officer Ral, I was not addressing you."

" _The girl speaks french?! And you neglected to tell me this!"_ Jeanne rapidly spit back at the french captain.

He shrugged, and brushed it aside as he took a seat on a stool, smoking his cigarette. " _This is exactly why I always tell you to read the documents that you're given._ "

He took a long exhale, blowing a puff of grey smoke into the surrounding air.

"With all do respect, _Capitaine_ , I refuse to be accused once more of being mal-informed to make up for your mistakes. If you'll excuse me, Officer Ral, I will be retiring tonight." And with that, Jeanne stormed out of the kitchen, purposefully pushing past Levi.

Petra watched the scene unfold between the two, never uttering another word since the captain hushed her. She didn't expect any other type of conversation with the captain as well, given his reserved disposition, which was exactly why she jumped again at the start of his voice.

"God, you get easily scared don't you—try to learn to control it when we start going into the field Ral, it makes one suspicious of you no matter the verdict." he sighed, brushing his fingers through his hair in exasperation.

He sucked in a breath of cigarette, and sighed the smoke out, Petra's gaze always fixed on the man. He glanced up, meeting her eyes, and stood up from his stool. "Go to bed, Officer Ral. It will be a long day tomorrow. And don't worry about your clothing, I'll take you to the Black Market when Jeanne decides to stop being such an idiot."

Petra gave him a soft smile, and thanked her superior—receiving no reply from the stoic man besides a stiff nod—leaving him in the kitchen for her bedroom upstairs.

* * *

Despite its initial haunted feel, more people started to fill the house within a few hours, even though the sun had not fully risen yet. Jeanne had efficiently helped Petra tear up her lovely uniform, but they were unable to fashion anything that didn't have that distinct military feel about it.

Within a few hours Petra sat at the kitchen table still wearing her green WAC skirt and a button up, nearly falling asleep despite the rising din in the farm house. She had always been a heavy sleeper, but what did she expect—there was no way she'd be following her typical sleep schedule running around Europe with her team.

By the time the three other men woke up, most of the resistants were already leaving the french farmhouse for the capital, having finished final preparations—last minute newspaper printing, assembly of equipment—while the newcomers were still sleeping. They watched lazily, feeling certain pangs of guilt that all they could do was watch the french people go risk their freedom tearing apart german propaganda sheets from the stone walls of the city. For the time being, however, that was all they could do. The elite squad would be doing nothing but waiting for further instruction from their superiors. In a sense, they were grounded in Vichy, and were mooching off of the French for the time being.

The five of them gathered at the wooden table set in the kitchen, sipping from mugs of warm water as their Captain—at the head of the table, quite obviously—sat down. The mood was a looming sort of boredom and exhaustion, nobody doing more than making small talk and giving the occasional glance out of the window.

Petra herself carried a soft smile, as if to convince herself that none of this was that terrible, and eventually the undertones of happiness carried over to the three other men who became slightly brighter when the young american sat down at the table, joining the rest of them.

Their Captain didn't speak momentarily, smoking a cigarette despite it being so early in the morning. The house had once again become silent with all of the resistants gone, besides perhaps Jeanne who was dealing with other matters. The members of the squad sat in near silence, fidgeting, and playing with their mugs while awaiting their superior's instructions.

They broke pieces of bread from a baguette sitting in the middle of the wooden table, noting how it was slightly stale, and sipping from their emptying mugs until their Levi finally stubbed his cigarette, sighing.

"A report every night on the resistants progress." Captain Levi dictated, not wasting any time on useless banter. "Following direct orders from the General you'll each be split up into small groups with the resistants. Schulz, you'll be working with newspaper distribution, Bossard with the transportation and militant training network, Ginn with strategy and counter offense, and Ral, you'll be working with Jeanne in overseeing matters."

"Other than that," he said, pulling out another cigarette, "We won't be doing anything until the bastards decide that we won't just be stupid poster children." Taking a drag, he sighed out, almost in exasperation, "Dismissed… Except, Ral." he pointed a lazy finger towards her, the other men stopping the grating of their chairs, all thinking to themselves: _How did the american already fuck up?_

"You, stay."

Petra, overrun with slight fear and languidity, nodded, and took her seat back at the table, sitting to Levi's right side. The other men grinned at each other, amused by the petite yankee. Eld gave her a soft punch in the shoulder as he walked out, giving her a look that said: _Knock him dead._

God, what was up with these guys?

"Ral, I've informed Jeanne that you will not be gracing her with your presence today. We both agreed that your… uniform situation should be dealt with immediately. We leave for the black market in ten minutes. Don't. Be. Late."

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Dear all, I realize this chapter wasn't exactly the best—I've been feeling kind of stuck (in rapport to writing) but hopefully this will just be like a kind of hiccup.

Thank you for following and favoriting this story, despite me sucking and not updating frequently. Sometimes I think about rewriting this chapter, but based on my track record, that statement is already flying out the window.

Tiffany7879: Lol, yeah. There's always that running joke about how Levi is secretly French (because of like Rivaille) so yeah! I always imagined that Petra and the boys had a great relationship too—familial and all.

To Guest and jenna: Thank you!

Also I just wanted to say that I watched Whiplash the other day, AND IT WAS INCREDIBLE. I AM LITERALLY OBSESSED.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

The early signs of winter were starting to show, and the trees surrounding the nondescript barn were starting to lose their leaves. When Petra and the Captain left the shelter of the farm, they were hit by the sudden gusts of wind that cut through their clothing, leaving their bare flesh pink.

The black market was some ways off from the farmhouse, likely at some other, abandoned building or another. The two walked in near silence, trekking on dirt roads, and skipping over the fences from field to field. Both dressed in civilian clothing, they tried to act as if they belonged, keeping their heads down whenever they passed any surrounding people, and speaking in short bursts of French. Petra didn't dare say anything in English. And she found herself constantly checking her pockets for her papers.

Jeanne lent Petra one of her ratty sweaters (patchy pockets sewn in onto the sides) and she wore it over her green military skirt and black heels that made her about a half inch taller than usual—which really, wasn't saying much considering the _giants_ that she was going to be hanging around for who knows how long (Eld, Auruo, Gunther). This, however did make her almost the same height as her short captain, who didn't seem to care about addressing the matter–yet then again, he didn't really care about most things.

Petra let out a soft sigh, debating whether or not to start a conversation with her superior. She had always been chatty, especially when she had been stationed in London. It was always so easy to find someone to talk to in her downtime—a visiting pilot, another WAC member, anyone really. They all had some interesting story to tell. And boy, did she bet the _Captain_ had some interesting things he could talk about.

But then again, she didn't know if he'd want to talk about it. It was bad enough talking about the war. They were currently living it. War stories were only to be traded in the dim underground bunkers, when you were pressed against the reassuring bodies of others, smoking a cigarette with your knees pulled up to your chest. When your draws were longer than usual, and you were sucking through it quickly. Because you couldn't help but wonder if it might be the last damn cigarette you'd ever smoke. Then maybe you'd gossip about it when you had a break, or maybe over the daily rations that you'd eat in the mess hall that day—the days when it was too rainy to comfortably sit out on the grass.

There was a time when Petra met this dashing British soldier—his name was Thomas, this kind of lanky blonde with the most _gorgeous_ accent she'd ever heard—and sat with him underneath the belly of his Bristol Beaufighter. He ran _night flights._ And God, that was just about the most interesting thing to her at the time. Imagine, just _imagine_ being able to fly over France at night. And he humored her. He told her the stories where he just barely escaped the Germans, _It was a damn close call_. He'd say, and then he'd say something just to make her laugh. What a flirt.

The two of them climbed over another wooden fence that separated a field from the dirt path, and Petra swung both her legs over, trying to avoid getting her skirt caught on a stray nail, or a chip in the wood. And after all this walking, _God_ was she tempted to take off her shoes and go barefoot.

The dirt looked smooth enough… and it had been a long time since she'd felt the dirt between her feet… London was great, but boy was it missing some of that dusty dirt that stuck to the bottom of your feet.

She pulled off both of her black heels (it would protect them anyways), and held them by the backs, walking barefoot down the lane.

"What the hell are you doing?" Levi asked her. She turned over to look at him, and despite his seemingly threatening tone, all she noted was a look of pure puzzlement on his face.

"My feet hurt, Captain. And I thought it would be nice just to go barefoot."

"Barefoot." he echoed her last word, as if meditating on what _exactly_ it meant. Then he looked at her feet, almost skipping on the path. "Foolish." he finally chided as an afterthought, giving an almost imperceptible sigh.

"Tell me something about yourself." he said. Petra looked up, surprised to hear him asking her to talk about herself.

"Me?" she asked dumbly.

"No. The _grass_ —yes you, idiot." he scowled in annoyance, and in that split second, he almost regretted asking her the question. Clearly she wasn't expecting it.

"Well," Petra thought about it for a moment. What do you tell someone about yourself at a time like this? _I'm a translator_. She thought for a fleeting moment. _I was based in London_.

"I'm from Massachusetts. This small, farming town just outside of Boston. It's called Bakersville." she smiled when she thought back to it. _Dirt. Grass. Good air. Kind of like now_.

She echoed her thoughts to the Captain, and watched her feet skip over some rocks, feel the rough indentation of pebbles against the bottoms of her calloused feet. "I grew up on a farm. Raised by my daddy, my mom. I had a brother—he's off fighting in the war too. But he's off in the Pacific. Kind of far from home." Levi watched her carefully, listening to her soft, deliberate words. He listened to her in what had become a scramble slipping between French and English. It was the international language that only the perfect, practicing, bilinguals of the two languages would know. "I have a sister too. I'm the youngest, by the way." _The youngest, he thought, looking at the youthful expression on her face. Not just a soldier, but the youngest of three children_. "And she is living—well, _was_ living in Pennsylvania with her husband, until _he_ got drafted. Now she's back with my mom and my daddy, helping them keep up the farm."

"A farm." Levi thought on that. It was almost the same word in French.

"And you, Captain?" Petra looked up, and saw an approaching building, where the frequent stragglers could be seen going in and out of it. Must be it. She began to slip her shoes back on, but she noticed the dazed expression on her Captain's face.

"I like reading." he began, cautiously. His features had softed, just slightly, and it was enough for her to make out the hint of a smile. "My mother had always read to my sister and I before bed. We liked _The Secret Garden_. And when the war started, there would often be times when we would be doing nothing. Hiding. Sitting. And I started reading again. It made me feel… more…" he paused. Then he glanced over at the intrigued american, staring at him with slightly wide eyes—innocent. "More human, again."

She noticed the minute shift in his features, how they softened miniscuely, and she understood.

"And your mother and sister?"

"My mother is dead." he stated this flatly. They started approaching the large doors to the building, and he switched fluently to french. "My sister, Mikasa," he scoffed briefly. "She's _very_ much alive."

"And that's funny to you?"

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, this bemused glint there, and he nodded. "In an odd sense, yes. More so funny because of what I know, and what you don't." He pulled a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his coat, and sneaked one out. He let it hang from the corner of his lip, even though there wasn't anything to light it with, then offered one to Petra. She'd been itching for a smoke for a bit… but she declined.

They milled around the with clusters of people, walking around as they tried to find something suitably dull and average for the job. A plain cloth dress. Maybe a shirt.

The captain and his soldier wove through the people, ignoring the temptation of food items they hadn't been able to indulge in since the war, not even in London—cheeses, coffee beans, and bacon. Jeanne was already supplying them with the food they needed to survive, and they didn't need anything else.

And after some time, they _did_ manage to find something. A old woman, selling clothing that must've belonged to some relative. A couple of dresses. Simple. Unnoticeable. In short, perfect for now. The french woman looked between the two of them—the brooding man, and the bright flushed woman. "Lovely dresses for a lovely couple." she said, smiling.

Petra flushed, and glanced at her Captain from the corner of her eye. He didn't look as placid or bored as usual. Instead he had this smirk playing on his lips, and as if to humor the old frenchwoman, he nodded, thanked her, and pulled Petra to his hip. "Kind words, _Madame_." he smiled at her, and she laughed, looking between the two of them.

They walked back into the crowd, and just as suddenly as he'd held her, he let her go. His smile had faded, but Petra couldn't help but wonder what it would've been like if he always had that smile on his face. It suited him.

"Sorry about that." he said. "Appearances." he added quickly after.

"Of course," Petra replied. But she couldn't help but note how she missed the press of his arm around her, the two of them linked at the hip.

He grabbed the dresses from her, and he opened up his coat, revealing the lining that had been peeled away at the top, just enough room for him to stuff both articles of clothing in there. Just enough room so that the bulge didn't look suspicious.

Indistinct shouting came from the mouth of the building, and Petra felt panic start to rise in her. Were they being bombed. Had the Nazis finally found them? People were being shoved around, but it hadn't become a stampede yet. Maybe they didn't know about it yet. Maybe—

"Calm down." Levi's voice was leveled, and he was looking around the room. "It's a roundup. If you don't run, they won't shoot you." He stopped her, and caught her by the shoulders, forcing eye contact.

"Tell me, Ral. _Please_ tell me you have your papers on you." Petra stared, and nodded. They were in her pocket. They were always in her pocket. They _had_ to be in her pocket.

"Yes, sir."

He closed his eyes, and let out a breath. "Good. Take care of them. We'll need them."

The two of them walked towards the door, minding their own business, and Levi had slipped his arm around her waist. They were a couple. They were a simple, French, unsuspecting couple. Everything would be fine.

A young German officer stopped the two of them.

 _Where are you papers?_

His tone was hostile, cold, impenetrable.

Levi gazed back at him, amused and calm, and took out his own papers. Petra did the same. She tried to stopped the vague tremble in her hand. But _GOD_. WHAT WAS SHE SUPPOSED TO DO. She'd always imagined this moment. Her first encounter with another soldier. Except she always thought she'd have her revolver in her hand. She would be pointing the barrel at his head, and she would make a quick escape. She'd never have to be so close to him.

The officer flipped through Levi's papers, then handed them back to him with a nod. Then he reached for Petra's papers. She tried to still her hands when he grabbed it from her. Levi watched them carefully, and when he noticed the tremble, he reached for her hand. He pressed his calloused palms to her hand, rubbing them together to make them warmer. Make up an excuse for the tremble in her hands. _He was just doing it for show. Distract the damn Nazi._

"It's cold, isn't it?" Levi said amicably. The officer ignored the both of them, and Petra tried to give a laugh. Act like she was enjoying herself, and that this was just formalities. She couldn't help but notice the electrifying sting she'd felt when Levi's hand had pressed against hers. That brief, fleeting moment when she'd caught her breath in the back of her throat, and felt the butterflies rise in her stomach. _All because he'd_ took _her hand, get it_ together _Ral!_

The officer handed Petra back her papers, and Levi freed up her now warmed up hand.

 _Everything must've been in line. Everything will be fine_.

The officer gave Levi a long, cold stare, not replying. He turned on his heel, and headed back towards the mass that had formed. A crowd of people were sitting on the ground, the Nazis walking amongst them.

 _A roundup._

 _Tell me you have your papers._

 _If you don't run, they won't shoot._

Petra wanted to throw up. She couldn't. This was murderous. It was hellish. She wanted to reach for her revolver, and shoot all the officers in the room. And let everyone else go free. She desperately wanted that. But Levi's hand had grabbed hers again, and he was watching her. He must've known what was going on.

"Keep your fucking cool, Ral." he hissed this to her in French. He must've seen the way her hand was twitching for the handle of her revolver. Must've noticed the sad fury in her eyes. He led her out of the building, and as soon as they were out of there—away from the noise, the chaos, the misery that was starting to leak out—they picked up their pace. There were two gunshots. Three. Four… Five…. A wail. A shot.

 _Everything would be fine._

When they finally reached the farmhouse, the world felt still. Jeanne was leaning against the side of the wall, smoking a cigarette, and watching the clouds.

"It's something she always does," Captain Levi explained as they neared her. "She waits there for all of her resistance members until the return—or don't return, for that matter."

Noticing the two returning soldiers, Jeanne gave a lazy salute with her cigarette, sighing out a low gray cloud of her own. "And look who have come back." she said, stubbing her cigarette out against the side of the wall and dropping it to the ground. "The first of everyone, _Capitaine Levi_ , and Officer Ral. Congratulations." she gave a slow mock clap, smirking when Levi rolled his eyes and brushed past her, entering the farmhouse. "And I see you have your dress, good job, Officer."

Jeanne trailed behind Petra, one hand on the shoulder of the considerably shorter american. "I also see you do not have this perpetual look of terror or boredom on your face, which means that Levi has done well and not scared away another woman. I feel proud of the Pride of France."

" _Not now, Jeanne._ " Levi growled.

But Petra couldn't hear the smart quips of Jeanne. And she could barely listen to the rebukes and the things that her Captain was telling her as they approached the house.

She rushed into the house, and made a beeline for the bathroom. She hung her head over the toilet, and cursed herself. _She should've done something. She_ could've _done something. That's why she was sent here. Not to watch. To stop. Help._ She gagged into the toilet bowl, watching the water shift. And she gagged again. She felt tears rush to her eyes, and the guilt well up in her stomach. But nothing could come out. Her voice felt strained, and her eyes stung. But tears didn't fall. Nothing fell into the toilet bowl.

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE**

* * *

Hello! It's been a long time since I've updated this story… or even posted anything here to be honest. There's been a depressing lack of rivetra on this site for a few months… (so yes, I've been checking the site but not updating my own fic… what a jerk) and maybe that's just because I'm a stupid lame-o who's become too attached to this ship for my own good… and maybe I should just be moving on to another ship like most other normal people…

Also the last time I updated this was over a year ago?!

But, hey, I'm back. This story honestly has no direction at this point. And if it did, well it's been too long for me to remember what that plan might've been. I probably should've written it down somewhere. So please don't be expecting a constant, scheduled flow of updates—though I wish I could give you that .

So I'm sorry if this story is shitty. The sad thing was I was really proud of the first chapter of this fic. Now I don't even know how I can get the two of them to fall in love and stuff all while having that good build up. I feel like I'm already rushing it here. Too much all at once. Goddamit. Why am I so bad at this thing?

However, I've been wanting to make a new fic (for this same couple of idiots, yay) but no promises. Because you can't fucking trust a promise from a fanfiction author. Sorry about the foul language. I've become quite fond of it. I look forward to posting again, whenever that may be… Cheers.


	5. Author's Note

Hi all! I hope you've all been having a lovely few days and that your life is going SPECTACULARLY.

On this positive note, I wanted to send out a notice to all you wonderful people that I will be CHANGING my username! It will go from Veggiepanda to hymuk! (I hope you all like it ahaha, because I really kind of hated the old one). I'm pleased to say that this new username is complete gibberish! (and if I decide to change it again...?)

Anyways, do not fear! All my stories will still be on my new profile, and very exciting, I will be publishing a new story! Probably within the next ten, twenty minutes. Aha! Just a blurb about it. I've been working on it for a few months actually, kind of just writing chapters and binge writing at night on whims. It sucked. And a lot of parts still kind of suck because it's just happening as it goes? So a lot of it might be rough, or there may be parts that woah are better and more fun to read, or are also just better edited. Either way, I hope you enjoy it! I want to say that it will be a finished, complete, masterpiece Adonis of a fanfiction, but I hate making promises to y'all because I hate breaking them...hm...


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